Invisible Illness
by Lily Hanson
Summary: People talk about faking sick. What about the ones who fake being well?


A/N: I just want to start by saying that though this uses storylines and characters from my Ninja Steel series, this isn't intended to be part of it. This is just a story I need to get off my chest more for personal reasons.

This story is personal to me because it's very current to the situation I'm in. For the past few months, I've been battling depression and anxiety. It's fighting to take a lot from me, my passion for writing being one of those things, and I'm trying to fight it back. Sometimes I win, and I'm able to get a bit of writing done (or handle other aspects of my life) and sometimes it wins. I've worked on myself and have built up coping trategies to help with the more day-to-day symptoms but unfortunately, all my research and talks with people I love, and I've found very little representation for the way I'm feeling, and therefore often feel a lack of support. Reading this, hopefully you understand why. I hope if you're like me, you read this and know you aren't alone. And if you're struggling at all with mental health, reach out to someone. Anyone! I've found some support in places and people I never would have imagined, and while sometimes it's not enough, every little bit counts.

* * *

It started off slow. So slow, Sarah didn't even notice it was happening until it was already too late.

Over a year after losing both her parents and time felt like it had blown by. She kept busy with work, with her friends, and with her own routines. She missed her parents dearly, but she had learned to live with that pain and even befriend it, to some extent. Whenever she felt the hole in her heart, she told herself it was her parents looking down on her, letting her know they were keeping an eye on things. It made her feel a little less alone.

But she had stopped tinkering. She lived in a condo with her girlfriend, Kelly and so there was very little room for anything. She didn't have a work bench anymore and while Kelly claimed she didn't mind if Sarah has her tools lying around, Sarah didn't feel that passion for tinkering like she once had. She had barely even touched her hoverboard either. At first she thought she didn't have the time, and that she would get back into riding it soon.

Months flew by and she barely even looked at her hoverboard anymore. When she needed to get somewhere, she would walk or one of the guys would pick her up in their trucks.

Aside from that, all appeared normal still. Work, hang out with friends, bed, repeat. Sarah could smile, she laughed, made jokes; but as time went on, she started to feel less.

She had a couple of panic attacks strike her at odd times, but she had experienced those before. She went through the motion, alone, and allowed herself time to heal afterwards. She told herself that everyone hurt sometimes and after the life she had, this was to be expected.

She didn't tell Kelly about the attacks. She could handle them alone and so didn't think she needed to tell anyone. By the time she saw Kelly again, things felt better.

Then, it felt like it happened suddenly, and yet slowly at once. Like falling, when you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the ground, but you can't stop it and before you have time to even think about it, you're on the ground, broken and battered.

Her attacks, or moments, started to become more frequent and more upsetting. She would burst into tears over little things and feel an unrelenting panic. She was overreacting, she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself. She couldn't find her keys before work and even though she knew they had to be somewhere inside the house, she found self searching the same three spots over and over again, and bursting into tears, yelling, screaming, kicking, punching. Then she would find her keys, somewhere obvious, feel like an idiot and walk out the door.

She started analyzing everything. Her conversations with Kelly and her friends, her own behaviour, or the behaviour and words of others. She'd analyze everything to the point where she had worked herself into tears. She knew the mountains in her head were molehills, but they felt insurmountable regardless.

She cried at work, too. She would wake up with worries, doubts, and fears and by the time she got to work, she couldn't stop the waterworks.

No one saw her pain. She could always pull herself together enough that she appeared fine around others. Despite intense fear, she could pull herself out of bed. Despite crying before the start of her day, she could do her work, sometimes even with a smile. She cried at home, but by the time Kelly returned, she had pulled herself together.

It all started to feel fake, but people saw her as genuine, and happy and put together. They came to her with their problems and she could help. She could be a shoulder to cry on and offer her support. She could give them pretty decent advice, pull up their spirits and confidence.

Yet she felt so empty inside.

Faking it started to get harder. Life started to get harder. The pain of having to get out of bed hurt her mind so much, it would affect her physically. Like prying herself up, and then having to pull five hundred pounds of dead weight out of bed too. She's get ready, drag herself to work and do the bare minimum required for people not to look twice.

Chores piled up at home because she couldn't handle them. She would lay on the couch, and sleep and hoping that if she rested, she's wake up with more energy, and more fight.

Day after day, she woke up more tired, more in pain and ready to just stop. But she was up and out the door for work. She hung out with her friends. She didn't laugh as much, or make any jokes, but she could still fake a smile here or there.

Kelly knew there was something wrong at this point. Sarah had a problem. This wasn't normal for her, or anyone, but Sarah didn't seem to be letting it stop her. She encouraged Sarah the best she could, praising her strength and resilience.

Sarah appreciated the support but it wasn't enough. Far from it, really, but that didn't matter anymore. She could barely remember what emotions felt like unless they were intense, and the intense emotions were often fear and hopelessness.

But she functioned. What needed to be done got done. Anything else would wait. Bills were paid, friends were kept, and though the romance wasn't like it used to be, Sarah made sure Kelly didn't feel neglected.

She didn't lose weight, but she was eating more than usual. She probably gained weight but no one would comment on that.

Wanting to know how to fix herself, she needed to know what was wrong. Obvious symptoms of depression and anxiety were present, but most research and tests required less functioning that Sarah had, or more intense symptoms, like thoughts of suicidée, which Sarah never considered, or complete withdrawal from friends and family, which Sarah never allowed to happen.

To get a real diagnosis, Sarah needed to suffer more, but it was already so bad.

People had it worse than her, she knew that. They had difficult, abusive or neglectful childhoods and Sarah never felt that applied to her. Sure her father betrayed her, but to this day she never doubted his love and loyalty to her growing up. He had been dealt a bad hand and made a bad move.

She suffered as a Ranger, but what Ranger hadn't. She heard some horror stories from past teams and the depression or anxiety they felt for years following their tenure. There were some suicide attempts and self-harm. There were some self-medicating and complete social withdrawal. By comparison, what she felt was just a drop in the bucket.

But it hurt so much.

She sought help, finally after one morning where she couldn't handle it anymore. She decided that though people were worse off than her, this wasn't normal. A doctor validated her feelings by referring her to a psychologist, who sat and listened as Sarah told her tale. A few sessions in and Sarah's mood lifted. She felt better, and for the first time in a long time felt genuine happiness. She told her psychologist she was doing better and the psychologist agreed. They talked about recovery and how it wouldn't be a straight path back. There would be bad times, and Sarah understood that, but she had new tools, better tools to cope with that fear and pain.

Those tools worked. They were very well day to day. Worried that used to feel insurmountable were now merely just a challenge to overcome. The depression she felt started to lift, and though happiness was still rarely felt, she did enjoy life again. She enjoyed hanging out with her friends, cracking jokes, and smiles at least felt genuine again.

For a month she felt good. Not great, but not bad, so it was good.

Then it hit. That backslide she had talked about with the psychologist. She used her tools for coping and they helped things from going from bad to worse, but life started to feel rough again.

It was a cycle she couldn't escape. She was still recovering and she was being hit again.

But she was mild, functioning. It was hard to discuss her feelings because people couldn't see her pain. They saw a strong, young woman who had already beaten her illness once. They saw her keep her life together, unaware it was only by the seams. They saw someone who could still socialize, hang out and have a good time, but they didn't see the apprehension or fear. They didn't see the meltdowns and the anger.

Sarah's pain wasn't noticeable so often felt like it wasn't enough.

She didn't fit the full criteria, but she hurt. That had to mean something. She had her friends to talk to and lean on, but it was hard to explain depression when she could still find joy in life. It was hard to talk about anxiety when people saw her strength and fearlessness above all.

Half-heard. She felt half-heard. All the people in her life were well meaning, but she never felt understood.

"It'll get better." "You'll figure it out." "I'm here if you need me."

She knew they meant it. She just wished they didn't make her feel so alone.


End file.
